Page 109 of Blindside Me
Blake presses something cold into my hand. Water, not alcohol. “Drink this. You look like shit.”
I take a mechanical sip. The water helps, but only barely. My pulse still hammers too fast, my skin too tight.
“You’re overthinking this,” Blake says. “Just talk to her.”
“And say what? Sorry, I’m a violent asshole who can’t control his temper and tanked my hockey career?” The words come out sharper than intended. Blake doesn’t flinch.
“I’ll point it out again. You risked everything for her.” He squares his shoulders. “That seems like a decent place to start.”
I stare at him, momentarily speechless. Blake Morton, the teammate I’ve known for three years is a fucking saint. My mouth opens but closes when the crowd near the door shifts. My heart stops mid-beat at the group of girls entering and scanning the room. Callie first, then Amanda and Maddie, and?—
Jade.
She stands framed in the doorway for a moment, blonde hair slightly windblown, cheeks still flushed from the cold rink. Her eyes move across the bar methodically, searching. They land on me, and everything else fades to background noise.
I can’t read her expression. Not angry. Not sad. Just … intent. Determined. She says something to Callie without breaking eye contact with me, then starts moving through the crowd in my direction.
My entire body tenses. The few feet of sticky bar floor between us might as well be miles of broken glass.
God, please don’t look at me like you don’t know me.
My knuckles are white around my water glass. The bar noise recedes until all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears.
Blake stands, vacating the seat beside me with a significant look I barely register. My face remains carefully blank, a mask I’ve perfected over years of hiding what’s underneath.
Jade moves closer, weaving between bodies. Three steps away. Two. One.
She’s close enough now that I can see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands, and the determined set of her jaw. My chest feels too small for the rush.
The air between us charges with everything unsaid.
I should stand. Say something. But I don’t.
Because I still don’t know which version of me she sees. And I’m terrified it’s the one my dad always warned me I’d become.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Jade
Drew sits at the bar, not at all like the man I expected to find.
Nope. This man isn’t laughing with his friend, kicking back having drinks. He’s hollowed. Shaken. He looks exactly like someone would whose life just imploded. I hate it. I hate that I care.
The lines I’ve rehearsed walking over here, “You ghosted me. Real mature,”or “Hey, forgot how to text,”vanish from my thoughts. Only to be replaced with the one that really scares me:Did I lose you tonight?
Because looking at his bruised knuckles, split lip, and shoulders tense like he’s holding himself together by a thread, I fear I have.
Drew’s gaze connects with mine, and the entire world stops spinning. At least, that’s what it seems like. My feet falter, along with my anger. I can barely breathe.
Every ounce of longing and hurt charges me as if we’re connected by an invisible live wire feeding me his emotions. They are too raw and too vulnerable. I want to touch the edges of that split lip and wipe away the hurt. But I cannot forget the three hours of silence that felt like an eternity after what happened.
“You’re alive then.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Good to know.”
His jaw clenches, but the haunt in his eyes gets to me. They’re dark and unreadable.
“Jade.”
Just my name. Nothing else. No explanation, no apology, nothing to grab onto. The music suddenly seems too loud, the bar too hot, and the space between us is too wide and too close.
